


If Only You Hadn't Loved Me

by Missy_dee811



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avengers Vol. 5 (2013), Civil War (Marvel), Declarations Of Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Not A Fix-It, Original Character(s), Post-New Avengers #3, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Feels, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-15 03:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5769547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/pseuds/Missy_dee811
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Steve and Tony had admitted their feelings prior to the Civil War?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The superhero community found itself in the midst of a civil war in the early part of the twenty-first century. Brother turned against brother. Friendships were brought into question. Loyalties were put to the test. Teams were pulled together only to be broken apart. For some, the promises they had made on their wedding day were called into question. Still for others, the beliefs they held dear were put to the ultimate test.

It was a war fought both on the streets and in the minds of the warring parties, in the chambers of Congress and on the couches of talk show hosts, public opinion pulling the strings. Both sides thought their vision of the future was the best and right course of action. Slowly, things started spiraling out of control, until all that was left was death and destruction, both at home and abroad.

At the center of this controversy were two men; a decade of friendship and camaraderie had forged a bond stronger than even the most resilient metal. They were an unbeatable force on and off the battlefield. They mutually admired and respected one another. They valued their differences, both in opinion and strength.

Few thought anything or anyone could come between them and at some point in time, they fell in love. Quietly, it swept them off their feet and caught them completely by surprise. Slowly, the idea of existing in a world in which the other didn’t became too much to bear, and after years of skirting around the issue, they finally confessed their love.

 

_Hours later._

_“May I see,” he asked the attending nurse, trying to keep his voice even. He used his commanding voice without meaning to do so, quickly regretting it._ Keep it together, Rogers. _She glanced up, immediately recognizing him. “Ah! I presume you’re the emergency contact,” she said rather jovially considering the circumstances._

_Moments later, she answered his question. “Of course, of course. This way, Mr. Rogers. He’s still unconscious, though.”_

_“That’s fine. I just want to see him. It won’t take long,” he replied._

_“Don’t worry, we’re monitoring him, so we’ll know if he wakes up,” responded the nurse as she led him down the halls of the ICU toward the room in question. They walked quietly. His enhanced hearing honed in on the machines beeping rhythmically in the adjacent rooms. When they reached the door to the room in question, she stood to the side. Her face unreadable. “I don’t know what you were told, but he died. I heard the medics when they arrived; they spent half an hour trying to revive him. If it weren’t for that virus, you’d be planning a funeral.”_

_He looked at the woman, trying to keep his expression neutral. She was young, about his age, maybe a little younger. High-stress jobs like theirs tend to age a person rather quickly. He nodded, solemnly, and walked inside, closing the door behind him._

_“Tony, why did you do it,” whispered Steve and then thought better of it. Tony was still unconscious; he couldn’t hear him anyway._

_Steve took off his leather jacket and placed it on the sole chair in the room. He walked over and stood by the IV; he could hear the drops. He glanced over, taking in an unconscious Tony Stark in a hospital gown. He looked strange. The hospital gown wasn’t the strange part: it was the hair. Long and blonde and so very not like Tony. He had shaved his beard. The dark stubble was the only thing about him that seemed normal. It was all very strange._

_“Tony… This isn’t the first time you’ve put your life on the line, but this time… This time it was different. You think Extremis makes you invincible, but you’re not. I hate to break it you, Tony, but you’re still human. You burn and bleed like the rest of us.” He took a deep breath and paced around the room, the heart rate monitor acting as ambient noise._

_“This is the second time in as many weeks that you’ve stopped someone’s heart. Tony, you’re self-destructive, probably more so now than ever before, and I’ve carried you out of a burning building.” He rubbed at his temples, “God, you were so fucking drunk that night you would’ve never noticed.”_

_“Why Extremis? Why now? Why didn’t you let us help you? Why do you always insist on doing things on your own? We’re your friends, Tony. I’m your friend and frankly, I’m fucking tired of watching you sleep in hospital gowns because you did something reckless that landed you here. Just… stop thinking you always know what’s best. You don’t. None of us do. We’re human, Tony, that’s just part of being human.” He stood, at the far edge of the room, one arm leaning against the wall, face turned down._

_He was angry. He hadn’t meant to come in and rant, but he couldn’t help it. He heard movement and looked up._

_Tony was sitting up, black eyes staring at him. Steve scoffed, “Figures you’d wake up now.”_

_“Yeah, well figures you’d come in yelling,” responded Tony, his eyes back to normal. For a brief, tense moment, two sets of blue eyes locked. Steve pulled the chair over and sat on Tony’s right. The anger Steve had felt moments ago was gone. Seeing Tony alive and awake had reminded him of the reason he’d come here in the first place._

_“I’m not here to fight you, Tony,” said Steve, resolute._

_“I didn’t think so… Why are you here?” There was an underlying current of frustration in Tony’s voice. He was on the defensive. Steve had expected that much. The last time they’d talked, Steve had been less than understanding. Things hadn’t really been the same between them lately._ Just tell him, Rogers. He deserves to know. Switch tactics.

_“I needed to talk to you,” said Steve, softly._

_“I’m here. We’re talking,” replied Tony, exasperated. He closed his eyes again, rubbing at his temples. The lights dimmed for a moment. Steve would never get used to seeing pools of black in place of blue. It was jarring._ Your blue eyes are all that’s left.

_“I can see that, Tony,” replied Steve, attempting a small smile. Tony watched him carefully, still on the defensive. He closed his eyes yet again and when he opened them, they were all black, fading quickly. Once again, blue eyes gazed into blue eyes. Tony dropped his guard and sighed, “Ok Cap, what do you want to talk about? I can keep them away for a while but they’ll know I’m awake at some point.”_

_“I want to talk about us.”_ That got his attention.

_“Us?”_

_“I should’ve told you this after the Red Zone, years ago. T’Challa told me what you did then,” said Steve, sheepishly._

_Tony stared at him, unfocused. In between deep breaths, he responded, “Steve, I’d do it again, if that’s what you’re implying.”_

_“Tony, it was suicide!”_

_“Yeah, so what?” Tony shifted on the bed. He adjusted the pillows behind him and threw his head back, rubbing his temples again as he closed his eyes. He reopened them shortly. This time there was no trace of black, just the deep blue they had always been._

_Steve stared at him, speechless. “Tony… You can’t be serious?” His voice dropped._ No, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. There had to be an easier way.

_“I’m always serious, Cap,” said Tony resolutely. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I hadn’t died for you,” continued Tony decidedly not meeting Steve’s eyes. There was no remorse in his voice and it made Steve cringe._

_“Tony, how – how long? How long have you… Harbored thoughts of suicide?” Steve looked at him, aghast._

_“Oh, I don’t know. I was probably about fifteen the first time I thought of it,” said Tony nonchalantly, as if were something as mundane, as if he were explaining why he had upgraded a teammate’s armor or weaponry. Steve knew he was trying to deflect._ This isn’t the place for this conversation. You’re wrong, Rogers. Tell him.

 _“Tony, I – I” Steve cut himself off, unable to finish his train of though._ Just tell him, Rogers. He needs to know now more than ever. Otherwise, why else did you come here?

 _Tony stared at him, intently, trying to gauge what his next words would be._ Tony, always the futurist. _“Steve, this doesn’t concern you.”_

_“No, Tony, that’s where you’re wrong.” It was Tony’s turn to look uncertain. He twisted, leaning on his elbow, to face Steve. His expression neutral, save for his eyes. He always had a hard time hiding the emotions in his eyes._

_Steve dropped his voice. He caressed Tony’s arm, softly, as he said, “Tony, I can’t bear the thought of losing the man I love.”_

_Steve’s serum-enhanced hearing picked up the slight vibrations in the heart monitor. Tony was trying, to the best of his ability, to control it with Extremis. The nurses and doctors hadn’t realized Tony was awake. They both knew this conversation would have to end as soon as they did. It was entirely in Tony’s hands, quite literally too._

_“Steve… I – I grew up worshiping you. Then, I met you. It was, and still is, the greatest day of my life, and come what may, I don’t think that’ll ever change. Steve, I never knew. How long?”_

By then, it was too late. The storm that had been brewing, slowly gathering strength and speed over the years, was finally upon them. No one would be immune from its effects, which would ripple through the fabric of time for years to come. Insecurities, fears, and doubts found their grounding and took root.

_“Everyone feels inadequate next to you. God knows I always have.”_

Not only did the war find them on opposite sides of this ideological divide, but also, it found them at odds which each other. It was time to see how strong this bond really was. It was time to test how powerful love really was.

_“Don’t. Don’t try to make this personal.”_

_“I think it’s a lot more personal than either one of us realized.”_

The decisive battle at the end of the line found them pummeling each other into the ground. It was clear to all who were watching that Tony had given up. He didn’t put up a fight, succumbing to Steve’s punches, until he was a bloody mess.

“Finish it,” croaked Tony, his eyes pleading with Steve. _Please, Steve, I can’t do this anymore. It’s gone too far. Please, Steve, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t do more. I’m so sorry I didn’t act sooner. I’ve been a fool, thinking I had this under control, thinking I_ could _control this._

Steve could hardly meet his eyes. _This has gone too far._ He found himself transfixed by what was happening. He pulled away, disgusted with what he had been about to do. His life flashed before his eyes, all those moments, culminating in this. He had been seconds away from killing his best friend, the man he loved. _Would Tony still love me after this? Did – Did I still love him? Of course._ _Of course, Rogers. How could you think that?_

Steve had been seconds away from murdering the man who had given him a second chance at life when the world had forgotten him, frozen in ice. He had opened himself to him when no one else had. While they might be at odds, this fight was not worth murdering his best friend, his partner, the man he loved. He couldn’t let all their hard work – the years they had spent building a life together – be tainted by this.

_“You gave me a home.”_

He looked down at his bloody knuckles and the blood seeping down his fingers along with the dirt and grime, and he tried to hold back tears. He knew he would never rid himself of this memory. He knew, no matter what happened that he had been the one who had almost ended things, permanently. _How could I have thought? Well, that’s the thing, Rogers, seems you weren’t thinking when you started pounding into him. Seems you weren’t thinking when you placed that EMP into his open palm._

Tony was still lying on the ground. His wounds far too grave to allow him the flexibility of movement. Steve had seen to it that he’d be too injured to move without help. Steve continued staring at his bloody hands and all he could think about was that split second, that moment he almost became the thing against which he had always fought.

It was then that he tore off the cowl covering his face and surrendered. As the police officers hauled him away, he had looked over to where Tony was still lying, his helmet askew, blood seeping out of his nose where he had broken it. His suit was in tatters, as was the ground beneath him. _There’s no denying it I did this._

As they handcuffed him, he looked around at the devastation around him. The whole street was a mess. There was broken glass everywhere. The concrete had been upended from the ground, exposing pipes underneath. The buildings in the foreground had cracks in them. Cars had been upturned and were lying on their sides, their windows broken, their upholstery ruined, their paint peeled away. It looked like a war zone. _That’s because it is a war zone, Rogers. You’re no better than them, thinking you have the right answers, thinking your way is the best. Stark’s no different than you, he too is blinded. We could have done so much – together. Well, it’s a little too late for that now… or is it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with the quotes, they're from Iron Man/Captain America - Casualties of War.
> 
> UPDATE: I added a second chapter. It's shorter than the first. I reiterate, this is not a happy fic. This will not have a happy ending. However, I hope it'll be cathartic.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the end of the world. Blotches of crimson loomed over them, drowning out the indigo. Before them, a new world.

As they watched this strange world float above them, hovering tantalizingly close and yet, so far, their minds couldn’t help but conjure thoughts of the dying and the dead.

_How different are they? How different are we? Are they thinking the same things? Would they have to decide between themselves or us? Did any of us ever really have a choice in the matter? Was this all foretold by some mystical beings far from here? Uncaring, omniscient creatures who toiled in matters far outside the realm of quantifiable. But for whom, this was just another moment, in a series of long unending ones, whose consequences would be but a ripple in the fabric of time._

_Never having to live in this reality, never having to ask themselves the same questions we ponder now, about truth and justice. Questions of morality. The difficult choices that make or break us. Those nagging decisions that weigh down on us more than any tangible, feasible weight ever could. All the while, leaving these marks on our souls. These scars on our bodies, visible only to ourselves._

_Wasn’t it poetic, after all?_

Rich dichotomies in brilliant hues strewn across the sky, like a story only the gods truly understood; a story meant for their eyes only, which humans could scarcely comprehend. Wheels moving upon a frictionless road, whose momentum would propel them forward, never once having to look back, never once considering that time and space we inconsequential. Never once having to think, _I am inconsequential. Without me, the world, and the universe without, would continue, unperturbed by my presence or lack thereof._

All they had ever dreamed. All those things that had once seemed so important. Those fleeting moments of sobriety. That future they had dreamt of, perhaps not together, for the world had conspired against them, choosing to see them on opposite sides, but the one in which they were both happy and alive.

Many years had passed. A future like that, let alone any other, was no longer possible.

 

The watch he wore counted down the minutes. _Just a little over an hour left._ In all the vastness of time and space, and hour was an infinitesimal amount, akin to a grain of sand scattered by the winds across this water-world, inhabited by hairless primates, who descended from the treetops, reconfigured the alignment of their hips, the orientation of their toes, settled down, and decimated the world with their greed and unabated consumerism. _You always knew it would end like this, Stark._

He was alone. He had detested being here. Memories, glimpses of the life he had surrounded him. He could hear the echoes in the silence that engulfed him. It should’ve been a comfort to be in a place so familiar, but it wasn’t. It could never be. He was no longer a stranger to nostalgia, that nagging desire to be in the past. The past, however, was full of lies and contradictions. Half-truths whispered out of fear of retribution, but those things no longer mattered. _He_ no longer mattered, though he was doubtful he ever had.

It was a sort of poetic justice to think that for all he had ever done, for all his good intentions, it wouldn’t be the future to succumb to his whims; it would be him, ever at the mercy of a past that couldn’t leave him, wouldn’t leave him. He was tethered to the ground, caged in, both unwilling and unable to escape.

 _Perhaps the worst prisons are the ones we build ourselves. The ones we oversee, whose construction is our burden. The worst, most despicable prison in which we find ourselves is the antithesis to all to which we aspire._ The night skies, once a source of child-like awe and wonderment, now bear the promise of death. _Perhaps, in choosing to dream, we may have opened ourselves to scrutiny._ For some, Icarus had served as a cautionary tale, for others, it was merely a projection. A pitiful account of the human condition and a desire to be above reproach, beyond recognition, but most importantly, spatial.

One with the gods.

Even now, as the clock ticked, the seconds and the minutes passed, and all was calm, he couldn’t help but think of the magic of flight. The sensation of the world, growing smaller by the foot, as he ascended.

_Perhaps, death will be far kinder than life has ever been._

Beggars, in their last moments, plead and pray. Requesting the audience of deities in which they may or may not have believed, whose counsel they may or may not have sought in desperate times. In times of need, when all hope seemed lost.

Moments such as these.

 _Absolution_ is always the last word on the tips of their tongues but how can a sinner request permission to be forgiven before they’re judged?

_Are you fallen? A broken machine beyond repair?_

_Did you do your best, Anthony? And did your best only make things worse? Your vaunted view of everything – how to build the world better – wasn’t it really just a blueprint of yet another death machine?_

_I guess the question now is: how do you reverse-engineer the works of a devil?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had thought about adding to this before posting it, but I think this works by itself.
> 
> I quoted New Avengers #23, which, I believe to be one of Tony's best monologues.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://viudanegraaa.tumblr.com).


End file.
